


nuisance

by apolliades



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: M/M, Morning Sex, Reunion Sex, Reunions, Slice of Life, basically just sex sex sex lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 23:41:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5435198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apolliades/pseuds/apolliades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sometimes Q writes james love letters, and sometimes he falls asleep on them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nuisance

**Author's Note:**

> this is sort of part of a bigger ... 40s-ish au i had planned, where james is in the navy, and Q is a poet or an author or something, and writes love letters to james when he misses him when he's away, which is often. this is just a slightly smutty snippet, really. i do plan to develop the au but, god knows when!

One Saturday Bond arrives home very very late. Q had been expecting him back in the evening, perhaps around ten. Q falls asleep on his desk around three. Bond opens the door as quietly as he can at half past five.

He’s exhausted, and planning to splash his face with cold water and then crawl into bed next to Q, who he has missed terribly, like he always does.

But his eyes adjust to the dim light of the living room, and there is Q, slumped over the desk, his face on the paper he’d last been writing on. The position he’s in looks terribly uncomfortable, and his glasses are still on his face, pressing grooves into his skin. He snores ever so softly. 

Bond goes to him and strokes gently over his hair. Q snuffles and sniffs and twitches in his sleep and, God, Q is many things, and one of those is heart wrenchingly cute.

After a moment or two Q hiccups and starts awake, blinking up at Bond behind his crooked glasses.

“Hello, darling,” Bond says softly. Q frowns a little as consciousness returns to him. 

“Hello,” he says back, then yawns wide, his tongue curling like a cat’s. He sits up slowly, like it takes superhuman effort. The page he’d fallen asleep on sticks to his cheek and he peels it off sheepishly. 

“Were you waiting up?” Bond asks, biting his grin. 

“Trying to,” Q takes off his glasses and scrubs at his eyes, “what time is it?”

Bond tells him and he grimaces. His nose scrunches up and his lip curls and it’s adorable.

“What were you working on?”

Bond reaches for the paper on Q’s desk – usually, Q lets him read whatever he’s writing, doesn’t mind at all, but Q snatches the paper away from him before he can make out even a single word of Q’s neat curling handwriting.

“Nothing,” he says quickly, shutting the paper into a drawer, “It’s-- not finished.”

Bond raises an eyebrow. “There’s a bit of it right here,” he says, and touches his fingertip to Q’s cheek, where the ink has pressed into his skin where he slept on it. 

Q blushes a light pink. He blushes easily, and James loves it.

“What does this say, hmm?” Bond murmurs, leaning close to try to decipher the smudgy back to front script, “This looks like a _J…_ _a… m… e… s…_ ” he grins, looking pleased with himself, “why, Q, that’s my name.”

Q’s blush deepens. James can feel the warmth of it under his fingers. “Are you writing about me, darling?” he asks, voice teasing, “or do you have another James somewhere, that I don’t know about?”

His eyes twinkle. Q’s cheeks go from pink to deep red. 

“You’re a nuisance, James,” Q tells him, batting his hand away from his cheek. “You know perfectly well you’re the only one.”

James catches Q’s wrist and holds his hand still. “Your only nuisance?” he asks, playing coy, smiling like the devil – he turns Q’s palm towards him and kisses it.

“My only _James_ ,” Q says, knowing full well that James just wanted to hear him say it, “I have plenty of nuisances.”

Bond practically purrs. “But surely I’m your favourite.”

“Yes, I suppose you are,” Q passes his thumb over James’ jaw. His skin is rough with stubble. 

James leans down and kisses him, warm and soft. Q yawns into his mouth and then apologises and kisses him again.

“Let’s go to bed,” James murmurs, mouth wandering from Q’s lip to his cheek to his ear, “I’ve missed you dreadfully.”

He feels Q’s slightly sharp exhale tickle his neck. “Yes, please.”

Q snakes his arms around James’ neck and James lifts him by the hips so he can wrap his legs around James’ waist and lay his forehead against his shoulder. There isn’t much difference between their heights, but in his arms Q always feels tiny, slim and delicate and breakable. Bond carries him to bed with one hand under his arse and one on the small of his back, and he can feel the bumps of his vertebrae through his shirt.

James murmurs soft filthy things into Q’s ear as he carries him, and Q hums and purrs responsively, pressing himself warm against James’ body.

By the time James lets Q down onto the bed and leans over him, Q’s eyelashes are fluttering, sleepily, but James pushes his shirt up anyway and kisses at his ribs and Q squirms a little, deliciously. James reaches Q’s hips and sucks bruises next to the sharp lines of his bones and he sighs soft and contented, pressing his hips up. He moves slowly, languidly; he feels heavy and hazy with sleep but warm with pleasure where James is licking lower over his skin and he doesn’t want to give in to unconsciousness. 

“Aren’t you tired?” Q mumbles vaguely, then sucks in his breath and groans in his throat when James’ mouth covers somewhere especially sensitive. “Fuck,” he sighs, and reaches vaguely for James’ hair.

“Not anymore,” James grins, and undoes Q’s trousers with his teeth.

That wakes him up rather significantly, brings his attention sharply to focus on just what James is doing to him. 

Q practically melts into the mattress, clutching at the sheets; he’s too exhausted to move much, feels utterly boneless, limp, and can do nothing but lie there and writhe and gasp and moan and whimper while James torments him sweetly. He fucks him lazily with his fingers and practically swallows him whole and spends what feels like an age teasing him with long slow licks and twists of his hands; he does it all so slowly, as if he has all the time in the world and nothing better to do with it than get Q off. 

By the time Q comes – and when he does it hits him in waves, making his hips roll and his head spin – he’s breathless and whimpering, almost crying, gasping out something that’s halfway between _James_ and any number of expletives. He’s not entirely convinced he isn’t dreaming. He can hardly remember his own name. 

James doesn’t stop what he’s doing, just slows down, moves more gently, until Q physically can’t handle the way it’s making him jerk and twitch and tries to wriggle away. Before, he was tired; now he is spent, empty but in the best possible way, heavy and limp and perfectly content. It’s hard to tell where he ends and the mattress begins. 

He’s asleep within seconds, drifting off with James’ mouth ghosting softly over his own.

-

They wake up late into the afternoon, when the sun is warm and low in the sky. Q wakes first, bleary and warm. He stretches and sighs and shifts over closer to James, pressing his face into his shoulder. 

“Good morning,” he mumbles, groggy. 

“Good afternoon,” James corrects him, threading his fingers through Q’s hair. 

“Shit, is it really,” Q says, sounding completely unbothered. It’s Sunday, and they have nothing in the whole world to do.

“It is really,” James confirms, and turns so he can bother Q with sleepy kisses to the mouth.

Q always complains about being kissed in the morning; he complains that his breath must be bad and that it’s embarrassing and whatever else but James tells him he couldn’t give less of a shit how Q’s breath tastes first thing in the morning. It’s such a small thing to worry about, when all James can think of is the fact that he has Q here in his bed and they’re safe and together in their house, in each other’s arms. 

“Nuisance,” Q murmurs fondly against James’ persistent kisses, but he doesn’t move away. 

Then all of a sudden he draws back, slowly, an expression of something like horror dawning on his face. He starts to grimace.

“I fell asleep,” he says, and puts a hand to his face, “I didn’t dream that, did I? I fell _asleep_ on you!” 

Q is beginning to look mortified. James laughs and pries his hand away from his eyes and kisses his knuckles.

“I really didn’t mind,” he says. He means it – he’d been rather pleased with himself, actually, for making Q come so hard he lost consciousness directly afterwards. Q pouts and grumbles about being embarrassed and when he starts apologising James has to bite his lip to shut him up.

“If you’re really all that upset about it,” he whispers against Q’s mouth, his voice hitting a low and gravelly register that makes Q shiver and traps his attention inescapably, “you could always make it up to me.”

“I’d, ah, I’d love to,” Q breathes, already moving to wind himself around James; James’ knee nudges between his legs and he shifts forwards so he’s sitting across his thigh and exhales softly when he feels James already hard against his hip.

“Just let me brush my teeth first,” he blurts, and twists away from James, tumbling out from under the covers. James stares after him, mouth open. 

Q returns mint fresh and having even taken the time to wash his face, only to find James half asleep again. 

“You’re getting old,” Q grumbles, climbing in under the covers and poking James’ legs with his cold feet. In one quick sudden movement, James catches him round the waist and pins him against the mattress, and sits across his hips. Q’s breath leaves him in a gasp.

“Say that again,” James dares him, leaning down to catch Q’s soft lower lip between his teeth and drag it through his bite.

James is hot and hard and heavy above him, and his voice is rough and commanding in a way that makes him go completely and totally weak, and Q finds he suddenly cannot say a single word. 

 


End file.
